


Eyes Unseen

by Kit_Kat21



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post - A Game of Thrones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: Arya wanted to turn away from the sight. She wanted to yell at both of them, but the words clumped in her throat and she remembered. Jon was her brother. But he had never been Sansa’s.





	Eyes Unseen

…

Arya had no idea why she thought to do it, to be honest. 

She supposed that she just wanted to be like they were when they were children – if just for one brief moment. There was a part of her that wanted to scare Sansa and have Sansa scream and Arya laugh as she went hiding behind Jon, who would do his best to keep from smiling at her antics. Robb wasn’t there anymore, but Jon still was and scaring Sansa had always been one of Arya’s favorite pastimes when they had been girls and maybe Jon would enjoy it, too, being taken back into the past for just a moment without having to worry about anything else that kept him busy at all hours of the day and night as King. 

They were in Sansa’s solar after supper as they usually spent their evenings. Jon had set up his desk in there, scattered with rolls of parchment, quills and pots of ink and he worked there until the candles burned low. Sansa sat in her chair in front of the fire, sewing, and Ghost laid at her feet as he always did. Even with Jon home now – home for good – Ghost had remained Sansa’s constant shadow. 

Sometimes, Jon would stop writing in the middle of a sentence and ask Sansa something – whether that be her advice or opinion on a Northern matter and Sansa’s needle would pause as she thought over his question before providing him with her answer. Arya never knew if Jon actually used her words, but he always paused as he seemed to consider it. 

Some nights, Bran would join them though he did nothing except sit and stare into the fire, silent, and more times than not, Arya would join them, too, but Jon and Sansa were always too quiet, seeing to their own individual nightly activities and she would grow bored quickly. 

Perhaps that was another reason as to why she did it.

She was bored. 

She entered the solar silently, neither Jon nor Sansa taking notice. Jon had gotten up to pour himself another cup of wine and as he sipped it, he looked to Sansa, watching her with a look Arya didn’t understand. She knew that Jon – their half-brother turned cousin, though he would always be their brother, in Arya’s opinion – and Sansa had gotten closer to one another than they had ever been. 

She knew that Sansa had gone to Jon as soon as she was free from Ramsay Bolton and Jon had kept her close and safe from that moment on. She knew that Sansa and Jon had ruled over the North and Winterfell together before Jon had gone south. She knew that Jon had “bent the knee” and had laid with the Dragon Queen, all part of playing a game that Sansa had told him all about and Jon had listened, knowing that playing the game was the only way to win. She knew that since the defeat of the White Walkers and the Northern Declaration of Independence, Jon had returned home to resume his role of King in the North and Sansa, as Lady of Winterfell, sat at his side. 

And now, each evening, Jon and Sansa sat in Sansa’s solar, completely at ease with one another’s company and casting looks at one another when they were certain the other wasn’t looking to notice.

But Arya always noticed. 

And she didn’t know if she liked it or not. In all of her travels, she had seen looks like that exchanged between men and women more times than she could count. 

Perhaps that was the final reason Arya did it. 

Perhaps, deep down, she was jealous. Not that she wanted Jon to look at her like that. He was her brother and she was his sister no matter what his true parentage was, but Jon had always been hers. Not Sansa’s. And maybe Arya wanted to pull Jon away from her. 

“Do you like the fabric? I admit that I had no idea what I was buying. I just bought of what colors I thought you would like,” Jon was saying to her and Arya wondered if he was standing too close to the fire because her brother’s face seemed too pink to her just then. 

Sansa’s name-day had been just the week before and Jon had gifted her with new bolts of fabric as well as furs to use in her sewing and had given the order to the kitchens to make lemon cakes for everyone in celebration; making the largest one for Sansa. 

Sansa was always the picture of Ice Queen Perfection, her face never revealing any of her thoughts, but when she saw what Jon had done for her, she had given him the warmest smile and hugged him. 

And Arya had seen the way Jon had closed his eyes and smiled to himself as he hugged her in return. 

Everyone had seen. 

“It’s all wonderful,” Sansa smiled at him now. “Once I finish my dress, I’m going to make Bran and Arya new cloaks. Bran sits outside for hours in the Godswood and he needs the warmth. At least, I think he does. And Arya, I know a cloak isn’t practical for when she’s training, but she needs to keep warm the rest of the time. Is your cloak still faring well?”

“The fur collar might need a bit of mending,” he admitted. “I’d sleep with that cloak if I could,” Jon then smiled a little in response. 

“Don’t you already?” Sansa asked and it took a moment for Arya to realize that Sansa was teasing him. 

When was the last time she heard her older sister tease anyone or smile as easily as she did when she was with Jon and it was just the two of them? 

Jon chuckled a little and taking his cup of wine, he returned to his desk and the work that still waited for him, needing his attention, and Sansa resumed her sewing and except for the crackling and popping of the wood burning in the hearth and the scratch of Jon’s quill on the parchment, the solar was quiet. 

They still hadn’t noticed that Arya had entered. 

She snuck up behind Sansa’s chair – practically creeping – her steps silent as always and she was able to keep her presence practically invisible. She leaned over the chair and looked to the dress Sansa was sewing for herself – a thick dark grey fabric and she was working on the long sleeves now. Arya knew it may have looked simple, but her sister had always been a remarkable seamstress and anything Sansa made – and wore – was anything, but simple. 

Arya leaned in closer – Sansa still didn’t sense her – and wetting her lips, Arya went right to her ear. 

“Boo.”

It was a whisper, but to Sansa, it was as loud as any explosion. 

Arya instantly realized her mistake. 

Her sewing fell from her hands and she stiffened completely, rivaling that of a plank of wood. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, her fingers curling around each so tightly, her knuckles turned white and her breathing, it became so rapid and so shallow, and Arya thought she would stop breathing altogether. 

Ghost, sensing Sansa’s distress, broke from his deep sleep and rose his massive frame to his legs, looking at Arya with his red eyes and growling. Growling at her. 

“Sansa,” Jon abandoned the desk as quickly as he could – not noticing the pot of ink he tipped over and it spread across his pieces of parchment like tar – and he hurried to her, dropping to his knees in front of her. He lifted his hands and framed her face, holding her with the utmost care. “Sansa, breathe. Look at me, love, and breathe.”

Sansa was still gasping, her chest rising and falling so quickly, it almost ached Arya to watch. 

“Come on, love. You can breathe. Breathe with me,” Jon was saying and took one of her hands, uncurling it from around the chair’s arm, and he pressed it flat onto his chest, over his own heart. 

It seemed like it lasted for hours, but then, Sansa’s breathing finally began to normalize itself once again. Once it did, Sansa seemed to collapse as if completely drained and tears silently tracked down her cheeks.

Jon rose to his feet and he scooped Sansa up into his arms. 

He kissed her forehead and still did not look to Arya as he carried Sansa from the solar, taking her into her bedchamber. Arya, wanting to help – and to apologize – followed and hurried past him to reach the bed first, pulling back the furs and the blankets. 

She stepped back so she wasn’t in the way as Jon laid Sansa down as gently as he could on the bed, but Sansa’s arms were wrapped around his neck and she wouldn’t let him go and Jon had to sit down and bend over her so she could keep holding onto him. He murmured words in her ear that Arya couldn’t hear and she knew that she probably didn’t want to hear. 

Arya had not been inside of this bedchamber since years earlier, when she was still a little girl. It had belonged to her parents, once so long ago, and Jon had Sansa take it once they had Winterfell again. It took Arya a bit of time to realize that Jon had done so because Sansa was not even able to walk past the bedchamber that had once been hers years anymore. That was when Arya learned all what Ramsay Bolton had done to her sister during their marriage. 

The bed was the same and the chairs in front of the fire – except the two pieces of furniture seemed placed much closer to one another than Arya could remember. There was a pitcher on the table and two cups. Against the side of the fireplace, there was a sword leaning there that definitely didn’t belong to Sansa and that was when Arya noticed that the doors to the wardrobe were open and in addition to the dresses that hung there, there were also a few tunics and pairs of breeches folded neatly on the bottom. 

Arya looked back to Jon and Sansa, her eyes slightly wide with her realization. 

How had she not noticed?

How long had this been going on between them?

“I’ll bring it to you,” Jon was saying to her, talking softly and gently, and he looked into her eyes. 

Sansa’s arms finally loosened from around his neck and her hands slid down, resting upon his chest, her eyes staring up into his as he remained leaned over her. She then lifted one of her hands and her knuckles brushed tenderly along his cheek and Jon closed his eyes for a moment at her touch. He then leaned down and placed the softest kiss upon her lips. 

Arya wanted to turn away from the sight. She wanted to yell at both of them, but the words clumped in her throat and she remembered. Jon was her brother. But he had never been Sansa’s. 

Jon pulled his lips back and his nose brushed affectionately against hers and when Sansa smiled, he smiled, too. Ghost instantly jumped onto the bed to lay himself protectively at Sansa’s side and with one more look to her, Jon turned and left the chamber – their chamber – to return to their solar. 

Arya stayed behind and she looked to her sister in the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot,” she said. 

Sansa just shook her head and reached her hand out, taking Arya’s and giving it a squeeze. “No. I just can’t be scared. Not anymore,” Sansa then whispered, as if confessing some grand secret.

Arya squeezed her hand back. “You’ll never be scared again. I promise you.”

Sansa smiled faintly and Arya left a moment later, closing the chamber door behind her. Jon stood at the desk, doing his best to blot at the spilled ink, and he lifted his head when he heard Arya enter. He opened his mouth to speak and Arya knew that he was going to lecture her, but she had something to say first. 

“Are you going to marry her?” Arya asked without dancing around it. 

Jon’s mouth closed and he lowered his eyes, pretending that seeing to the ink was his priority right now.

“If she’ll have me,” he then said so quietly, Arya nearly missed his response altogether.

But she had heard and she couldn’t help, but roll her eyes at his simultaneous thick-headedness and blindness. 

They were not children anymore. They had all seen and done and gone through too much to ever be children ever again. Arya knew that scaring Sansa just as she had done when they were girls was something she could no longer do. 

Since returning to Winterfell, she had struggled with finding a place. She was not a Lady like Sansa, but Jon had not made her a soldier of Winterfell – yet – and she certainly wasn’t some raven like Bran. 

But knocking sense into Jon, perhaps that could be her new role.

Arya could imagine herself doing quite a good job at that. She would start right now. 

…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
